


oh, your wild heart

by meggiewrites



Series: The Fabiverse [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Arguments, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Implied Mpreg, Kid Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Transfer Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggiewrites/pseuds/meggiewrites
Summary: I felt young, never changed by crooked heartsCome on and wait another year for dreams far awayTo come home, to be braveOr, moments in the life of Fabian Tobias Müller and his parents.





	1. 2021 (age 3)

**Author's Note:**

> So. This belongs to a much bigger universe that I maybe will write one day. Maybe. I had never really planned to post these on ao3, but with the current hysteria over tumblr _maybe_ being deleted I just wanted them safe. They're incredibly cheesy though, so if that isn't your thing, better click away now.
> 
> All the older ficlets are written in Fabi's POV – if I add anymore I most likely won't do that anymore, but I'm too lazy to completely rework them from Manuel's or Thomas' POV. Lyrics in the summary from 'Wild Heart' by Bleachers.
> 
> Oh, and for clarification: Papa is Manu, Dad/Dada is Thomas
> 
> Edited but unbeta'd, enjoy!

Fabi was three when he picked up his first football.

Of course, the sight of them was nothing new. There were always a few of them laying around when his parents took him along to their work. That didn’t happen often, and if it did they usually handed him over to a young blonde lady with a nice smile. Dada would ruffle his hair and Papa would pepper a few kisses on his cheeks. Then they would leave.

The lady was nice. Fabi couldn’t pronounce her name, so he called her Katta, which sounded close enough to what his dads called her. She wasn’t as pretty as his aunt Lisa, with whom he usually stayed when his parents were at work, and even if she had a kind laugh and always gave him something to play with, she was always quite busy too.

After the first few times Fabi had visited her, she always had a few puzzles laying around in her office, the pieces big, adorned with pretty colours. She also brought a few stuffed animals – though none of them as fluffy as Socks, his horse plushie – and a few toy cars. But never had there been a football in the office before.

Katta had brought it along, mindlessly placing it on the ground, next to where Fabi was playing on a blanket.

It was big, round and a bit shiny. A lot bigger than the balls Fabi and his parents played with at home in the garden on days when it was comfortably warm outside. When he ran his hand over it, the surface was smooth. He’d watched football games, of course, his dads sometimes turned on the TV on weekends when they weren’t working in the evenings. The ball seemed a lot more scary up close. Well, not scary, he decided, more like intimidating.

Carefully, he got up. He tried to move the ball with his foot, like he’d seen on TV. He fell over. Determined, he got back up again.

It took him several attempts, but after a while, he was able to softly kick the ball against the wall. It made a little thudding sound whenever it hit its target. Fabi giggled. By the fourth time, Katta looked up from her paperwork.

“Oh!” she said, a smile slowly spreading on her face. She let out a little chuckle before picking up her phone. Fabi turned back to the ball, trying to hit that one spot where there was a bit of dirt on the wall, not paying her anymore attention as she typed something on her phone.

After another few minutes, he hit that one spot the first time. He wanted to turn back to Katta, beaming, but his eyes got caught on the doorway. He hadn’t noticed the door opening, but now that he did, he found both his parents smiling down at him.

Papa was hovering behind Dada as the latter crouched down, bringing himself face to face with Fabi. He picked up the ball, placing it in front of Fabi’s feet. Once more, Fabi aimed at his little target, giggling when he hit it with the first try.

His Dada smiled a toothy smile so wide that his eyes became small, all crinkled up. He chuckled as he pulled Fabi in a careful hug before turning to Papa, who had by now sat down next to them as well.

“Would you look at that. Maybe he’s got the gene after all.” He almost sounded a bit incredulous.

Papa picked up the ball, tossing it back and forth. It looked a lot smaller in his big hands.

“Yeah, maybe.”

He smiled.

 


	2. 2023 (age 5)

Fabian was five and a half years old on the morning when his parents strapped him into the safety seat, loaded some of their most important belongings into the back of their car and went on a drive up North.

For weeks already, change had been in the air. Suddenly, his parents had stopped always working the same hours, his Dad often gone during the day while his Papa hunched over the desk in his office, going through some paperwork. Fabian thought they’d looked more relaxed, too, as if some weight had been lifted off their shoulders.

Mostly, he’d enjoyed that Papa would let him watch him work, occasionally smiling at him, teaching him how to make paper airplanes or turn the numbers on the files into five apples, thirteen stars, an airplane in an imaginary sky with the power of his smile and the pen in his hands. He enjoyed Dad coming home at six in his gray suit, smiling wildly and smelling like soda and chewing gum, kissing Fabian’s hair before lifting him up and twirling him around, kissing his Papa on the lips in greeting.

Still, he hadn’t anticipated to leave so suddenly. At first, he felt his heart thump against his chest, but then, he fell asleep to his parents talking quietly in the front of the car and the sun slowly rising, casting its bright fingers all over them. It was only when he woke up after a long while and the landscape outside of their windows looked so different, that he realized this might be a permanent thing.

Suddenly and fiercely, he started to miss their house by the lake. He hadn’t had much friends back home, as he was usually mostly around people his parents’ age when they were working and hadn’t really connected to anyone at kindergarten yet (though he had hoped that would change once he started school) but he quickly realized that he was growing homesick nevertheless. He hugged Socks, his horse plushie, closer to his stomach, burying his nose in the soft fur.

They stopped for lunch, and his parents smiled at each other over the diner table, holding hands under it, but Fabian was almost too excited to notice – they didn’t have chicken nuggets for lunch all that often.

A few hours in the car later and fields and woods turned into houses, canals and big cranes, then into smaller houses again. They were stuck in traffic for a while, his parents laughing in the front row, giddy, exchanging pecks in between giggles. By now, Papa was driving, wearing a pair of very reflective sunglasses; they must have switched when he’d been asleep.

It was already getting dark again when the car finally came to a halt in front of house that was white, located on a steep hill overgrown with big trees and other pretty houses, overlooking a river where a big ship was just passing by. It looked exciting, new, and Fabian could hardly tear his eyes away from it.

He startled a bit when his Dad put a hand on his shoulder, gently patting it before tugging him along. Papa was standing in the doorway of the house, a tentative albeit genuine smile on his lips as he turned back to them.

“Welcome home,” he said and as he wrapped his long arms both around Dad and around him, Fabian realized that whenever the three of them were together, that’s where that would truly be.

Home.

 


	3. 2036 (age 18)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has already been posted over at my [Neuller drabble collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506788/chapters/33515535). I will eventually delete it from there, so if you commented, I'd love if you could 'move' your comment over here!

Walking into the Allianz Arena for the first time in years felt strange. Not in a bad way, of course, but the wave of nostalgia that washed over Manuel as soon as he walked through the door was so strong it almost swept him off his feet.

He had come alone – even if both the other two members of his small family were in the stadium as well; they were here for their jobs while he himself was only a spectator. 

When he found his seat in the VIP area – it was crazy how he maneuvered around the hallways, turns and corners almost automatically still, the layout of the stadium burned into his mind after fourteen years for playing for Bayern, even if it had been a long time since he'd waved the fans a final goodbye, his then soon-to-be husband by his side, doing the same - the sharply dressed lady next to him let out a short gasp. Upon her request he gladly gave her an autograph, accompanied by a crooked smiled; getting recognized also wasn't something that happened to him as often anymore, though those instances had increased in number since they’d moved back to Munich a few months ago.

She shot him a confused glance when he pulled out his phone as soon as he'd sat down – he was a bit late and there were mere minutes to the start of the game – opening the Sky app and plugging in his earphones instead of focusing on the actual pitch. He ignored her. A smile found its way too his lips when a very familiar voice rang through his eardrums, announcing the lineup. 

He was probably the only one who noticed how Thomas' voice stumbled a bit as he listed the players on the bench. 

"And number 26, Fabian Müller," a short, almost unrecognizable pause, surely followed by a tiny smile, invisible to the people at home, "the 18-year old youngster who transferred from St. Pauli this summer, will probably make his first team debut today." 

Their boy looked so incredibly young in the image they'd used for him. Granted, he was six to seven years younger than Bayern's average player, but at the same time, Thomas had only been a year older at his own first Bundesliga game. For Manuel, it was hard to believe that it was their little boy down there, the person he had raised and shaped, following his and Thomas’ footsteps at such a young age. 

They had never urged him to become a football player, that had been Fabi's own decision. And of course, he'd played professional games in Hamburg too – something that everyone only expected from the youth team's record-setting captain - but this was different. This was Bayern, the Rekordmeister, and for Thomas and Manuel, this club was home. 

Fabi knew that, and even if they’d reassured him that he didn't have to, he wanted to do nothing more than live up to their names, their legacy, their legend.

From where he was seated, Manuel couldn't see the players tunnel, so he focused back on his phone. His heart took a little leap when he spotted Fabian's mop of messy, dark blond curls. He looked nervous as he took a seat where his parents had sat almost two decades ago, and in that moment, Manu wanted to do nothing more than wrap him in a tight hug.

The first half of the game of the game went by pretty unspectacularly. No one scored any goals, but still, somehow, there was no real tension building. Manuel’s butt had gone numb by then, and he was glad when, five minutes into halftime break, Thomas shot him a text. 

_ Hey sweetheart, wanna come up?  _

Manuel chuckled. Thomas wasn't technically allowed to do that, he knew; but there also wouldn't be anyone complaining as long as they didn't make a habit out of it, especially since they were former teammates. After all, football games, for the likes of them, were all about socialising. 

He shot his neighbour an apologizing glance when she had to get up for him to pass through before he made the trek up to the official media area. 

Thomas expected him in his box with a smirk and a quiet "hey there, hot stuff!", served with a cheeky wink. The headset he had to put on during the game was still dangling around his neck, his eyes small from smiling so widely. 

Manuel blushed. It was crazy that even after all those years, with both of them going gray and new wrinkles added to their faces every day, Thomas’ compliments still had that effect on him. After quickly peering over his shoulder to check if anyone was watching them, he leant in for a short kiss. 

Luckily, the other journalists paid them no attention and when Thomas sat down again he patted the seat next to him. 

"Do you know if he's gonna come on during the second half?" Manuel asked, curiously. 

When he peered down to the players tunnel, he could see that Fabian had already made his way out, warming up next to the field. 

Thomas nodded slowly. "They've informed me that he's gonna play with the start of the second half." He chuckled, "it's almost a bit funny, how none of my colleagues have any idea that he's my kid. Our kid." 

Underneath the table, he took Manuel's hand, a smile chasing over his lips when he felt Manuel entwine their fingers. They both knew how nervous Fabi had been that morning, so much more anxious than when he'd debuted with St. Pauli's first team about a year earlier. 

"What if I fuck it up?" he'd murmured, insecurity dripping from each and any of his pores. 

They had reassured him that he wouldn't, but by the deep frown line he could now spot between his husband's eyebrows, Manuel could tell that Thomas was just as nervous as he was. 

He pulled him close, pressing a single peck on those beloved mousy brown-grey curls. "He'll be fine. He's your son, after all." 

Thomas' smile was tight but terribly fond at the same time. His eyes sparkled. "And yours, my dear." 

In the end, it turned out they'd worried for no reason. Within the first fifteen minutes of coming on, Fabian scored the leading goal. A smile broke out on his face as soon as the ball hit the net and when he celebrated he lifted his hand to pat the crest on his chest as he raised his other hand in a wave, his eyes searching for where he knew his parents must be sitting. 

Manuel cheered loudly while Thomas visibly struggled with keeping his commentating neutral, close to failing in stopping the mirth in his voice from spilling over, drenching every single one of his words. 

"That's my boy," Manuel whispered as he watched Fabian beam on the big screens, and when he looked down at Thomas, he was met with the exact same expression.

 


	4. 2029 (age 11)

There was a man standing by the side of the pitch. Now, of course there were many men there – dads, mostly, including his own, who was currently switching between side-eyeing the stranger, observing the game with the keen eye of someone who knew it very well, and tapping on his phone.

Anyway, there was a stranger dressed in a black suit. No one wore suits to a youth league match of a 10th league Hamburg kids team. Fabian had never even seen their coach wear one.

As they walked off the pitch with a win under their belt – and Fabian was very proud of the goal he’d scored in the second to last minute – the man was still there. He caught their coach by the sleeve, causing all his teammates to stop and observe the adults before their the coach signaled them to return to the dressing room. When he joined the team after ten more minutes, he looked a bit distracted. Most of the boys had already showered and Fabian was just slipping into his t-shirt when the coach walked up to him.

“Fabi, I want you to join your father outside. Well done today,” he added with a smile, even if something about it seemed different than usual.

Papa was talking to the man in the suit. He was taller than the stranger by almost a full head, and it looked almost comical, this proper, polished man with dress shoes lightly sprinkled with dirt next to his giant of a father with his artfully ripped jeans, chunky knitted sweater, reading glasses and messy hair.

As Fabian approached them, he managed to catch a bit of what the man was saying before it was drowned in the noise of a truck that passed by the pitch. 

“Have you ever considered …?” he asked. Had Papa ever considered what?

“Hey, paps!” Fabian greeted his father as he walked up to them, beaming a bit when Papa patted his shoulder, pulling him into a quick hug.

“Hey there, Krümel. Nice goal!”

“Thanks,” Fabi said, carefully side-eyeing the man. He looked less intimidating up close, more like the guys his Dad worked with occasionally, who were all smiles and banter but somehow really professional nevertheless.

“Fabian,” his father cleared his throat, “this is Herr Schneider, he is a scout.” He hesitated for a moment, but Fabi’s heartbeat had already started to race. “He said he wants to observe you for a couple more games and training sessions, but he thinks his club could be interested to have you as an asset to their youth team. If that’s what you want of course,” he hurried to add.

Fabian didn’t really remember the rest of the conversation. He’d shaken hands with Herr Schneider in the end, and the look in his father’s eyes had been both incredibly proud and hesitant at the same time.

“It’s because of you and Dad, isn’t it,” Fabi asked three hours later as he was pushing food around on his plate. By now, the adrenalin and the endorphins in his veins had transformed into a simmering worry. “Cause you know how hard this is and you don’t want to set me up for something I maybe won’t reach.”

The wide-eyed look Papa gave him made it clear that he hadn’t been expecting that particular reasoning. 

“Gosh, Krümel, no!” He sighed. “Everyone with two eyes can see that you’ve got immense talent!” His voice grew softer, “Fabi, you have to believe me, you’ve got so much potential. But this is a tough business and I don’t want you to immerse yourself in this just to please us, you know?”

Fabian snorted. “I don’t. I love football, Paps, you know that!” 

He wasn’t quite sure if he’d imagined the mumbled “of course you do” he received as a reply. He turned his fork around, mustering the piece of pasta impaled on it.

“I want to try it out. If they do want me. That doesn’t mean I’ll have to go pro one day, y’know. But you’ll have to at least let me try.”

His Papa’s smile was tight, but then he leaned over the table to press a kiss on Fabi’s dark blond hair before softly shaking his head.

“God, you’re just as stubborn as me.”

The grin they shared felt elating and relieving at the same time.

They sat on the couch together when Dad returned from work a few hours later, watching one of the old Star Wars movies. Fabi could hear his footsteps halt as he walked by the kitchen tables, clearly spotting the documents that Herr Schneider had given them to read through.

His smile was tentative but undeniably proud and crooked as always when he finally came to a halt in front of them, eyes focused on the logo printed on top of the letter he was holding. “What is this, then?”

And as Papa stood up, so quickly that he almost knocked over the couch table, framing dad’s face with his hands and claiming his lips with his own, Fabi couldn’t even be bothered with his usual ‘yuck’ reaction to his parents’ PDA. Instead, he could feel his grin spread so widely that it made his cheeks hurt.

“I’m going to play for St. Pauli.”

 


	5. 2035 (age 17)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a translation from a short oneshot I wrote in this verse in German, so occasionally, my style might be different from what you usually see from me – originally posted on fanfiktion.de!
> 
> (Hopefully there aren't too many mistakes, I only took about an hour for the translation, will probably go back to edit those out tomorrow)

There’s a leaf sticking to Fabian’s shoe. The streets are wet, the sky is overcast with heavy rain clouds. It’s only a quarter past seven and the dusk already lays over the city like a thick blanket. It’s surprisingly warm and Fabian’s winter coat almost too warm. With a grumble, he kicks a pebble a few feet ahead of him, wondering if a tiny bit of snow is asking too much. But in the end, it’s only the beginning of November and the climate in Hamburg is mild.

It only takes Fabian five minutes to get from the S-Bahn station to their house. The entrance door squeaks as he presses it open, and Fabi can tell from the quiet music coming from the living room that someone must be home. He slips out of his sneakers, hanging up his dripping wet coat on one of the hooks in the hallway where it happily continues to water their floor, before heading to the living room.

On the big dining table he finds two plates. The pasta is still hot, tiny gushes of steam rising from the food.

“I thought you said you’d be home by seven?”

Fabi startles. His father has always had the ability to creep up on you without you noticing. Actually quite extraordinary for a man of his size.

He’s leaning against the kitchen door frame, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s frowning and his steel blue eyes look worried behind his prescription reading glasses.

Fabi shrugs. “Sorry, training took a bit longer than expected.” It’s a lie, but he isn’t ready to talk about the news he learned from his coach that day. Not just yet. “Where’s Dad?”

“Still in Berlin. He’ll join us later.” His father sighs before sitting down.

It happens quite often lately, them eating dinner on their own. Sometimes Fabi wonders if his parents are having problems with their marriage, but he doesn’t dare to ask. Instead, he fixes his gaze on the plate in front of him. Fresh pasta with prawn and spring onions; he must have visited the market. It’s delicious, but Fabi still has trouble swallowing.

Lost in thought, he rolls a noodle onto his fork before dropping it back on the plate. Some of the sauce sprays onto the wooden table in tiny little drops.

“Is everything alright?”

Fabi slowly lifts his head. His father looks tired. It’s weird at the table, with just the two of them. Weirdly quiet, without Dad. Papa has never been too much of a talker, and now, with what hangs unspoken over their heads and the gray, dull weather outside, the depressing mood is almost tangible.

Fabian lowers his fork, fiddling with his napkin. He doesn’t look at his father.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Bayern made an offer for me?”

His father groans, putting his face in his hands as he lets out a deep sigh. “Who told you?”

“The coach. He thought it’d be a good idea if I maybe knew about it as well. So why does he have to be the one to tell me? Surely, you must have known about this for a while – I mean, you’re my agents.”

Papa doesn’t look at him and instead pushes his food around on his plate. Then he clears his throat. “We thought it’d be better if you graduated here, in Hamburg. You only have a year of school left.”

Fabi frowns. “I can do that in Munich as well, though. And you know football is more important to me, anyway.”

“Your father and I don't think so.”

“ _You_ did well enough without an Abitur! And what about me, doesn’t my opinion count for anything? I’m seventeen, not a little kid!”

He almost flinches at how much he raised his voice. At his own, pent-up frustration. Ever since his coach took him to the side after lunch, it has been building in his stomach. Even more so when he realized that it meant his parents must have kept this from him.

His father’s eyes grow hard. Suddenly, their blue is as cold as ice.

“ _My_ career has nothing to do with this. It’s better for everyone if we wait with the transfer for another year or two.”

Fabian snorts. “Better for you, you mean. That’s always a given, you wanting to save your own skin.”

He regrets those words as soon as they come over his lips. He doesn’t even really register how he rises from his chair, turning around before he can see the hurt look in his father’s eyes.

His fingers tremble as he laces up his shoes and he doesn’t even really remember how he made it to the hallway. His coat is still wet, sticking to his shoulders uncomfortably.

A cold wind ruffles his hair as soon as he steps outside, biting at his cheeks, but Fabian is too occupied to notice it. He’s running, slipping several times as he hurries down wet steps, but he doesn’t care about the bruises on his palms, going faster and faster until suddenly, the beach opens up in front of him.

The Elbstrand isn’t a real beach rather than a few meters of built-up sand, fixed in place by a small embankment made from tar and some big stones, embellished by a few barren, leafless bushes. In front of Fabian, a giant oil tanker passes by. The beach bars and sailing schools are closed, and there’s not a single person in sight. It’s almost dark by now, the colours of the day more of a memory than something actually visible.

The rain has eased off. Fabian bends down, picking up a stone. It feels warm in his palm. He takes a few steps towards the waterline, skipping it over the black water with practised ease. It takes three leaps until it disappears into the water with soft plop. Then he just stares out on the river.

This time, he doesn’t flinch when a big figure appears next to him.

“You got that from me, you know?”

Fabian looks at his father questioningly. He’s taller than him, still. By now Fabi doesn’t believe anymore that he will one day tower above him, unlike when he was a kid, back when he felt possible to reach for the stars if he only stretched far enough.

“Running away from conflict. I used to drive your father crazy with that habit.” A smile tugs at his mouth. It’s nothing more than a tiny flash of happiness, but it’s enough to ease the knot in Fabian’s stomach at least a little bit.

Occasionally, their neighbourhood might seem like a pretty small town, but it’s never quiet. The harbor doesn’t sleep and reminds you of the closeness of the city every hour of the day. They both lift their heads as the horn of a ferry sounds over the water.

Fabi tugs his jacket tighter around his body. Only now does he notice how he’s freezing. “You should have told me about it.”

His father sighs. “Yeah, we should have. But you know, we did it for you. You have no idea what’ll happen when this thing with me and your Dad comes to light.”

“Neither do you.” That manages to make Papa grin. He takes a step closer to Fabian, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re right, I don’t. But we sure as heck didn’t move to the other side of the country to protect you just so that the whole thing blows up prematurely because you insist to move back to Bayern already now.”

Fabian grumbles something into his collar.

“What did you say?”

“I don’t _want_ to do that.”

His father shoots him an incredulous look.

“I mean,” Fabi runs his hand through his hair. Because of the moist air, it’s even messier than usual. “I have all my friends here. And I don’t actually want to change school one year before graduation. It’s just shit that you didn’t talk about this, that you made a decision without even asking me.”

He shrugs. “Sure, you’re my parents and I know you want the best for me, but isn’t it your job as my agents to keep me up to date?”

His father snorts, burying his hands deep in his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the water as a crooked smile creeps onto his lips.

“Well, then let’s hope that Bayern still wants you in a few years time.”

Fabi grins. “I’m sure. I mean, it’s basically my birthright, after all.”

 

When they finally arrive back at the house, the entrance door is left ajar. His father is the first who manages to shed himself of his jacket, his scarf and his shoes.

“Thomas?!”

There are some crashes upstairs, then, Dad comes hurrying down the stairs.

“Oh thank god, there you are!”

He looks pretty worried. He’s still wearing his suit, but his gray hair resembles a bird’s nest, and after a regretful look into the big hallway mirror, Fabi has to admit once again that he inherited that from him.

Out of the corner of his eyes he observes how Dad plants an sloppy kiss right onto Papa’s mouth. Normally, he’d cringe a bit at the over-the-top PDA, but for once, he’s happy about it. No marital row after all.

Dad shakes his head in disbelief. “You know, I thought why not take the earlier flight to surprise my boys for once, but when I come home, what do I find? Your food unfinished on the table, the door not locked and not a trace of the two of you! I thought god knows what happened to you!”

Papa chuckles, leaning into the hand Dad has placed on the side of his face while he slings the other arm around Fabi’s shoulders, pressing him close to his lanky frame before giving them a firm look.

“Everything alright?”

Fabian smiles, exchanging a look with Papa. “Yeah.”

Dad doesn’t exactly look convinced, but in the end he pulls away from both of them, clapping his hands.

“Very well! Then I’ll order myself a pizza now. Cause I, for one, am plenty hungry.”

 


	6. 2023 (age 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas morning with the Müllers.

It’s early in the morning, and Thomas blinks his eyes open. The room is still dark, the sky outside pink from the steady snowfall. It’s been a while since they’ve had a white Christmas, and Thomas smiles as he takes in the snow-topped mountains, softened landscape and the trails of the people ambling along the lake outside of their big windows.

Next to him, Manuel is still sleeping, his face looking youthful when it’s this relaxed, soft hair falling over his forehead. He can’t resist the temptation and brushes his fingertips over his ear, his jaw, the gentle curve of his cheek. Manu doesn’t stir. He always sleeps like a bear during hibernation, and after a hectic last week before Christmas, he’s even less likely to wake up from Thomas’ tender caresses.

It’s easy to get sleepy again – engulfed by his husband’s warmth, the blankets and the cozy mood of the quiet snowfall and the dim light, Thomas can already feel his eyelids dropping again, and he’s just ready to pull Manu closer to him and nod off once more, when the door to their room gets pushed open.

Despite being rather talkative, Fabian isn’t a loud child, necessarily – had Thomas been in his place, he’d probably be shouting and banging pots – but even as he tries to be sneaky, his small footsteps resonate loudly in the quiet of the room, and the bed squeaks as he climbs onto it.

Thomas quickly closes his eyes again, pretending to be asleep; Manu is still happily dozing in his arms.

But then, Fabi flings himself onto them with the delighted giggle of a five year-old, faceplanting on the sheets before pulling himself upright again, gripping onto Manu’s shoulder, shaking him.

“Papas, wake up! It’s Christmas!!”

The excitement in his voice is almost tangible, his slippers almost slide off his feet and he’s still wearing his pyjamas. Manu is in the process of waking up, blinking at the delighted expression of his son with slightly confused stupor, then at Thomas, as a smile slowly creeps its way onto his face and he struggles to sit up, getting an armful of Fabi first thing.

As most German families, they only open presents after dinner on Christmas Eve, but their son knows the day will be spent with baking cookies, decorating the tree, and maybe even heading outside for a snowball fight or two.

He’s already talking a mile an hour about everything they’re going to do that day, and Thomas can’t help but grin at it all – in so many ways, their son reminds him of himself, even if he might look so much like his beloved husband.

Speaking of – he gently strokes over Fabi’s hair before turning to Manu, stealing himself a kiss, his heart leaping when he can feel the blond smiling against his lips. Manu might not be fully awake yet, but his drowsy grin when they pull away is downright adorable, and Thomas could look at him forever. If Fabi wasn’t tugging at his sleepshirt with a face that clearly says that he wants them to get up immediately, he might have.

Instead, he folds back the heavy blanket, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He shivers when the cold air hits his naked legs.

“Well then Krümel, up you go!” He turns back to his love. “Nunu, are you coming?”

Manu just groans and dramatically lets himself fall back into the sheets.

Thomas laughs and scoops Fabian up in his arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by art by my lovely friend E!!!


	7. 2031 (age 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, these chapters are just getting longer and longer, aren't they ... well, here's this anyway. Based on this [tweet](https://66.media.tumblr.com/140ea62566657071c3dc2c88854a8c37/tumblr_phr8ey80b11qepbxk_500.jpg) that I found on tumblr.
> 
> ALSO this is sorta a birthday present for my v v good friend E!!! Happy birthday u talented hooman!!!

Fabian is twelve when he buys the mugs. He finds them at a small market shoved into the corner in a busy street close to his school. The stand that sells them has an assortment of them, but it’s two specific ones, side by side, that catch his eye.

“I’d like those,” he says, pointing at them, and only grins when the vendor gives him a slightly confused look.

 

It’s his task to make breakfast the next morning – okay, not officially, but since he’s always the first one out and about on weekdays, he often prefers to. He knows that his dad is probably awake, though. A tiny smile tugs at his mouth when he visualizes Dad’s deep, sarcastic sigh when he wakes up to Papa’s weight on his chest just like every day before then deciding to let him sleep for a bit longer.

The mugs are a deep red colour and sport pretty much the same design. Except, well. He twirls one of them in his hand, considering, recalling how Papa took him to the movies the other day when Dad was at a conference of some sort, and grins.

He turns on the coffee machine, hops on the counter; and then he waits.

“Fabian?”

It’s rare that Papa is up this early. Usually, he’s the last one to shuffle into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his stubble. Today he looks surprisingly put together considering it’s only seven in the morning, and proceeds to give Fabian a loopy smile.

“Morning Paps!” Fabi grins even wider. Then he picks up the freshly made coffee in one of the new cups, handing it to him.

Papa frowns, then purses his lips. “Number One Dad?”

Fabi nods. Papa smiles.

They spend the next few minutes, before there’s a crash coming from the hallway, and only seconds later Dad ambles into the kitchen.

“Morning, my dears, hope you slept well!”

As usual, he looks quite cheerful for this time of the day. He’s freshly showered, the hot steam still trailing after him. He smells clean and Fabi catches a whiff of it when Dad steps around him to pull Papa into their obligatory good morning kiss.

Then, Dad notices the mug Papa is holding.

“What’s this?”

Fabi grins again. “I have one for you too!” He hands it to him, and Dad frowns.

“Why does he get ‘Number One Dad’ and I just get ‘Dad?’”

Fabi shrugs. “Aren’t you Dad?” But of course, his dad immediately spots his shit-eating grin, wagging his finger at him.

“You cheeky little bugger! You just watch out young man.” He pinches Fabi’s cheeks, and Fabi laughs, slapping his hand away while Papa just stands there, contently drinking his coffee as he listens to them banter back and forth.

 

The next week, Dad takes Fabi to the game he’s commenting.

Officially, he isn’t allowed to, but he’s never been one to obey to rules all too much – not when it’s not harming anyone, at least. And after all, Bayern usually only come to Hamburg once a year. Fabi’s excited – even if, as a St. Pauli player, he still wrinkles his nose a bit every time he goes to the Volksparkstadion, it fills him with glee to see games in person, in a way that’s so different from when you watch them on TV or heck, even when you play yourself.

In a way, being a fan is the most passionate you can be in football, and so, he beams when Dad hands him a VIP pass and ushers him inside.

Upon one of Dad’s colleagues asking, he’s just a kid whose parents he’d promised to bring him – which isn’t wrong, per se, but it still stings every time when they pretend that they’re not related, that Fabi isn’t his son, neither his and Papa’s.

Dad winces too as he sees Fabi frown, but then he just ruffles his hair. He points at where the forwards skip over the grass as they’re warming up and smiles at him. It’s a forlorn smile, one that tells tales of nostalgia and fading memories, but it’s the proud look in his eyes that makes Fabi’s heart beat faster.

“One day, that will be you.”

The morning after, Dad gets to drink his coffee out of the ‘#1 Dad’ mug. From that day on, Fabi assigns the mugs each morning however he sees fitting in the moment.

 

It’s shortly before Fabian’s birthday that they get into an argument.

Fabi has promised to clean his room four days ago, and Papa finds him reading on his phone on the window bench in the kitchen instead. He’s holding the simple ‘Dad’ mug – a rarity, as most of the time, their close bond warranted the almost permanent fixture of the ‘#1 Dad’ one on his place on their table – and he isn’t happy.

Papa starts berating him with that disappointed face of his as Fabi grows smaller and smaller, knowing that he has let him down. Around five minutes later, Dad comes home and after quickly asserting the situation, he concludes that Papa is being too strict. Papa disagrees, and after half an hour, his parents are yelling at each other while Fabi has curled himself up into a ball, too scared to push by them, walk through the door and go hide out in his room like he wants to.

It takes a lot to get Papa angry, but once he is, his voice is loud, booming, appearing in bouts and dying down again when Dad just interrupts him, ranting, yelling in frustration.

They don’t argue often, almost not at all, and never this violently.

Experiencing it makes Fabi feel like he can hardly breathe anymore, especially considering – gosh, he sucks at his bottom lip, biting down on it until he can taste blood – that he’s the one who caused the argument in the first place. Dad is shouting again as Papa clutches the mug in his hand tighter and tighter …

“AND JUST BECAUSE THE TWO OF YOU ARE SOOO CLOSE DOESN’T MEAN THAT PARENTING IS A ONE-MAN SHOW, YOU KNOW?!”

Dad looks like he regrets his words as soon as he’s spoken them. As a million of emotions pass over his face, the mug in Papa’s hand bursts with a shattering noise that resonates off the walls like ice cracking under pressure.

Then, abruptly, everything falls quiet.

The red shards look out of place on the light wooden floor, and Dad heaves a deep, rattling sigh, crouching down, picking them up carefully. To Fabi, he’s never aged, always looking just like he does in his memories aside from his slowly greying hair – now, he looks like an old man.

“Fabian, please go get the dustpan for the smaller pieces.” He looks up, and the lines on his face are deep and cast shadows over his features. Carefully, he opens the trash can as Papa still stands frozen before turning to him.

“Babe, let me look at your hand.”

And as Fabi shuffles out of the door, he can just see out of the corner of his eye how Dad turns the faucet on, carefully cleaning Papa’s bloody palm.

 

Later that day, they all sit on the couch, Papa in between Fabi and Dad, his hand wrapped like a Christmas present. Luckily, the cuts were only superficial, but it still looked messy when Dad patched him up, so carefully and lovingly that Fabi is sure he wasn’t the only one wondering why they were even arguing in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into the cold air, and Papa turns his head, his eyes deep and warm.

“Oh Krümel. You have nothing to be sorry for. I just overreacted. It’s alright, I promise.” His smile is tired, but his hand is warm on Fabi’s shoulder, and as he pulls him in, pressing a kiss on his head, Fabi feels like he did as a little kid, when his papa’s pride was all he needed to feel content. And even if he thinks himself to be too old for parental affection like that by now; right then, he doesn’t mind.

Dad clears his throat. He’s got one hand in Papa’s hair, his eyes cast downwards.

“I’m sorry, too. I had a really shitty day at work and no reason to take it out on either of you.” He turns to Papa. “I hate when I drive you to the breaking point, sweetheart. I know you’ve been stressed lately, I shouldn’t have provoked you even further.”

Papa cracks a smile, and Fabi sniffles. “I love you both, you know? And I love you too Dad, so much even, I know that …”

Dad quiets him with half a smile and raising his free hand.

“I know. You’re the best son either of us could wish for. And you and your Papa,” – he smiles at the man in question – “have a very special bond. It was there long before you were born and I will never be able to compete with that. But,” – he reaches around Papa, untangling it from his hair to focus on Fabi’s instead, pushing back a curl that has come loose from his hairdo – “the beautiful thing is that I don’t need to. Because I love you two as much as a person physically can, and I know that you both love me, too.”

He ruffles Fabi’s hair. “But next time, when your father tells you to clean your room, you do it. Alright?”

Fabi nods. “Promise.”

And then he snuggles into Papa’s side, not even caring how he's supposed to be too old for it, and everything is well.

 

It seems almost like fate when the same market is back in town two days later. At first, Fabi doesn’t even want to go look at the stands, but then, something catches his eye. He doesn’t think that the vendor recognizes him, but she smiles at him warmly when he points at the mug he wants and wraps it up in old newspaper.

He sprints home, and luckily, both his parents are already back from work. He’s panting, but he makes the beeline for where Papa is sitting in his favourite chair as soon as he’s kicked off his shoes.

“Here!”

Papa gives him a curious look but then starts to carefully unwrap the packet. His hand is still plastered with several bandaids, but the cuts healed well enough, even without having to see a doctor.

“Oh,” he breathes when he sees what Fabi brought him, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips. He leans forward to hug him, and Fabi beams.

When Dad enters the living room as well, incidentally sipping his coffee out of the red mug that has since the incident become somehow his. When he spots what Fabi gifted his partner, he chuckles.

From that day on, coffee in the Müller household is served in the red mug and a corresponding blue one that say ‘#1 Dad’ and ‘#1 Papa’ respectively  – because in the end, they’re both the best parents that Fabi can think of.

 

(He doesn’t cry when for his birthday, they serve him his hot chocolate in deep brown one that says ‘#1 Son’. Not at all.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (did I chose the mug colour according to their club loyalties? oh absolutely I did)


	8. 2019 (age 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today it's Fabi's first birthday! I am on holidays and didn't have much time to write, but have this little something anyway :3

Manu wakes early on his son's first birthday. It's a rare occurence, but somehow he finds himself awake in Thomas' arms, staring up at the ceiling.

After ten minutes, Thomas is still dead to the world, and when the baby phone stirs Manu stretches quickly before untangling himself from his boyfriend's arms.

Fabi is awake when he reaches the nursery; babbling happily, making grabby hands at him. Manu can feel a smile spreading on his cheeks as he looks down at him. God, he doesn't even know what he'd do with his life anymore if he didn't have him anymore - already, the little boy is such an essential part of his life, of himself.

Fabi giggles when he picks him up. Manu sighs happily when he presses him close. It always brings him joy to hold him, whenever Thomas remarks how alike they look, when he cradles his tiny head overgrown with golden curls ... As lively as Thomas, always smiling, always laughing, but quiet when Manu has him on his lap, curling up on his chest and falling asleep so easily.

"Hey Krümel," Manu whispers, and Fabi giggles when he tickles his stomach, "happy birthday!"

Of course, Fabi doesn't know the date, doesn't know its significance, but Manu's heart skips when he gives him a good cuddle.

An entire year.

An entire year since he first held him in his arms, after an arduous few hours where he'd been in more pain than ever before, and then been happier, even if also more exhausted than he's ever felt.

But them Fabi had squirmed in his arms, tiny and fresh and pink, clenching his tiny fist around Manu's pinky as Thomas had squeezed his shoulder, close to tears and with pride welling in hiy eyes.

Their son, this little miracle baby.

Thomas had cried first, then, but now, looking at home much he's grown, how quickly time has passed, it's Manu who feels them pooling in his eyes. He sniffs, wiping them away, kissing Fabi's head. He holds him close and starts making his way downstairs.

He's making coffee and preparing Fabi's formula one-handed, still cradling him in his arms, when Thomas saunters down the stairs. His eyes light up as soon as he spots them, and he coos at Fabi who giggles and grabs his hand when he gently pokes his cheek.  
  
Then, he looks up at Manu, and his eyes sparkle.  
  
"One year, huh."  
  
He raises on his tiptoes, lightly pecking Manu on the lips. He doesn't mention how time goes by so fast, but they both think it.  
  
Thomas looks at Fabi again and takes him from Manu, pressing a soft kiss on his hair. They have the same curls, and Thomas' eyes are soft when he looks at Manu.  
  
"We did good, didn't we? Happy birthday, Fabian."

 


	9. 2020 (age 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't even replied to your comments for the last chapter and already here's the next one ... oops?? Warning: angst and insecurities. But also fluff.
> 
> It is also heavier on the implied mpreg, so if that bothers you, maybe skip this one.

It's only a thin line. Now, after over two years, it's hardly visible when you don't know it's there. But still, standing in front of a full-length mirror, it's the part Manuel's eyes focus on, without a doubt the part of his body he's most insecure about. The scar, and the slightly softer stomach he hasn't been able to get rid of, no matter how hard he worked out.

It always takes a few days, if not weeks, for a new teammate at Bayern of the National Team - someone who hasn't seen him naked before - to notice it. Sometimes it takes them only seconds to connect the dots, sometimes weeks, sometimes it needs a short quip from a teammate to make then realize.

The most uncomfortable moment is when they finally understand. Manu's seen it all. The shock, the surprise, the curious glances, the confusion with eyebrows drawn tightly together.

He's also had people sneering at him, scoffing, turning up their nose - luckily, that hasn't happened often.

In most people's eyes, carrying a child to full term doesn't make him lesser. But it always, without exception, makes him different.

Different, like the contraceptives he has to swallow while brushing his teeth every morning. If he forgets, he has to do it at breakfast, head hung low, unable to meet any of his teammates' eyes, no matter how long they've known him.

It always helps when Thomas sits next to him in those moments, squeezing his thigh under the table where no one can see, letting his fingers bump against Manu's side, offering silent comfort.

It's nothing to be ashamed of, nor something that should make him uncomfortable, but Manu can't help it.

Of course, he has most of his long-term teammates’ full support. It helps when Sven asks him with a soft smile how Fabi is doing, when Joshua offers to babysit whenever Thomas complains about the two of them not getting enough alone time anymore, when Robert comes to ask what baby product he uses for this or that because him and Anna are at their wits’ end with their second child – Manu is always happy to help, and he knows he’s not too bad at being a father.

It’s just how his way to becoming a father is different from everyone else’s that makes him stand out like a sore thumb, that turns heads and occasionally makes people snicker behind his back.

Thomas always tells him not to listen to them or his insecurities. Of course, he loves Manu like he is, loves him for bringing Fabi into their lives, but he can’t understand why Manu feels so conflicted about this. He chuckles softly whenever Manu feels insecure about his stomach, dropping feather-light kisses on his scar before crawling over him, caressing Manu’s skin with his hands and mouth before pushing into him, pinning him on the soft clouds of their bedding until Manu gasps and all that is momentarily forgotten.

Still, the fears come nagging again as soon as Manu lays his head on his fiancé’s shoulder. Women get stared at when they claim they don’t want to have kids; for men, it’s exactly the other way round. Having a kid doesn’t agree with a traditionally masculine role – combined with football, a profession that can in matters like this be toxic at best, it makes for quite the mindfuck.

It’s been worse these days, and he can’t really tell why. Maybe it’s their new winger that seems having trouble with accepting his word as a captain ever since finding out, maybe it’s the new pill he’s trying out that’s messing with his hormones.

Thomas runs his hand through his hair when Manu sighs, but he finds himself helpless, unable to do anything.

But then, there’s a quiet crash from the room next door, and Manu untangles himself from Thomas’ embrace.

Fabi sits in the middle of his multi-coloured building blocks scattered all over the floor, staring up at Manu with tears in his eyes. Manu kneels down in front of him, opening his arms, sighing silently when the little boy flings himself into his arms, crying quietly.

“‘t fell down, Papa,” he whimpers, and Manu hugs him closer. He can feel his son’s tears wetting his t-shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Krümel,” he whispers, and pulls away gently, wiping Fabi’s tears away, smiling at him encouragingly. “How about I’ll help you construct it again?”

His son nods, and already, he’s tentatively smiling again, hugging Manu once more before shuffling over, gathering as many of the blocks in his chubby arms as he can.

Manu sits down next to him, and they spend the next ten minutes rebuilding the little tower Fabi has started working on after his nap. It’s only when their little boy is busy placing the last few bricks on top of the construction that he notices Thomas leaning in the doorframe, hair still messy from where Manu had gripped it tightly, eyes tired but oh so fond.

They soften even more when they meet Manu’s, and it only takes a few seconds for him to join them on the floor, scooting closer to Manu until their sides are touching from hip to shoulder.

“What are you guys building?” he asks, and Fabi beams at him.

“Dada, look!!”

And as Thomas praises him before snatching Fabi up in his arms, bouncing him in his lap and making him giggle, Manu realizes that it’s worth it.

Every insecurity, every fear, every asshole he had to face ever since coming to terms with being with being A2-positive, with having been pregnant – it all pales compared to what he’s gained.

Fabi is worth it. Their little family – Thomas and Fabi laughing together, Fabi crawling all over him only to reach Manu’s shoulder, pawing at his neck and his breath close to Manu’s ear – is everything he could have ever wished for and more. And in the end, he has his body to thank for it.

And when Manu traces his fingers over his scar the next morning under the shower, maybe gathering some strange looks but not really paying attention to them anymore, catching Thomas’ eyes from the other side of the room, he smiles.

 


	10. 2019 (age 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still feel like this is pretty ooc on Manu's behalf, but at the same time it's a lovely little bonding moment for them as a family, so I really wanted it here anyway. Feedback welcome as always!

Thomas leaves the banquet early. As it is, it feels more like a funeral anyway.

It doesn’t help that he hasn’t been able to spot his other half since he’d observed him walk into the tunnels with blank, glassy eyes and tightened shoulders. He didn’t look broken, not exactly, but Thomas knows better than anyone that that could just be a facade.

By the time he’d finally reached the field after wrestling down the stands, this time no one stopping him for pictures but walking in the opposite direction of everyone leaving the stadium instead, he’d been too late; Manu was long gone.

The house is dark when he returns, and he doesn’t dare to call out for his lover. Their bedroom is vacant, but Thomas recalls Manu’s coat hanging on the rack – a soft pling manages to throw him off that train of thought.

It came from the nursery.

Thomas treads forward carefully, his socked feet almost inaudible on the wooden floors, trying to not wake up his son–

But then, the door to the nursery is already ajar.

It’s not a big room, not compared to their usual standards, but it’s cozy, comfortable. Were it soaked in daylight one would notice the warm, pastel yellow walls – that had taken some convincing on Thomas’ part, but even Manu, Schalke born and raised, couldn’t deny the positive vibes of a colour that captured sunlight itself – at this time of day though, everything is devoid of colour, and everything is – should be – unmoving. But as it is …

The centerpiece of the room is a big, round woollen rug. It’s handwoven and extremely soft to the touch, chosen carefully so that Fabi could play on it or even take a nap on it without feeling uncomfortable.

Now, a big figure is perched in its middle, sitting with his knees drawn to his face, leaving just enough space in between his legs for a small bundle, illuminated only by pale moonlight.

Manu’s shoulders are rising and falling in quick succession, and Thomas doesn’t have to step closer to realize that he’s crying quietly.

Of course, he does so anyway.

Quietly, he sits down next to his fiancé. Now that he’s close enough, Thomas can hear his sobs, and each and every one tears a hole into his heart that’s big enough to poke a finger through it.

He doesn’t dare to reach out, but his heartbeat quickens when he recognizes the bundle between Manu’s legs. One glance at the crib is enough – it’s empty, and instead, Fabi is perched in between Manu’s legs. He’s awake and, god, he has one of his tiny hands raised, resting on Manu’s cheek.

He hasn’t learned to talk yet, but it’s so abundantly clear that he can sense that something is wrong, that he’s confused by it. That he wants his papa to be happy.

Now, Thomas has to choke back a sob as well. God, he loves their little boy so much.

Manu abruptly turns his head, and Thomas realizes he must only have registered his presence then.

“‘omas?” His voice is raspy, shaky, and Thomas wants nothing more than to pull him close, pepper his tear-stained cheeks with kisses. But he isn’t sure if he should, if Manu wants that. He doesn’t cry often, or much at all, really, in general and not even in front of Thomas, rather being someone who’d try to fight his sadness on the inside or react with frustration, so Thomas is at a bit of a loss.

And even though he's crying and even though Manu wouldn't last out just like that, especially not in front of their son, but there is a good deal of anger behind his eyes, too. Anger at who? Thomas guesses that it’s mostly anger at himself.

And so, he stays unmoving and just watches as Manu picks Fabi up, hugging him close as the little boy buries his face in the crook of his father’s neck.

Manu sighs deeply, his chest heaving from all the crying.

“I fucked up so bad.”

“ _Liebling_ …”

“No, I did!” Manu rubs his runny nose with his sleeve. “I was terrible!”

“You had one bad game. So did half of the team. Stop blaming yourself!!”

Thomas is aware how desperate he sounds, but he knows his pleas are at a dead end by the way Manu laughs cynically.

“When was the last time I had a _good_ game then, huh?! When!”

Thomas sighs. Suddenly, it’s as if he deflated like a hot air balloon. “When did I?”

He scoots closer to Manu, and when he feels Manu sighing, defeated, lowering his head slowly until it touches Thomas’ shoulder, he lifts his arm, wrapping it around Manu’s broad shoulders, letting his fingers card through short hair as he buries his nose in it.

“We’re growing older, my love. I think it’s just something we need to start to accept. No matter how badly it hurts.”

He vividly remembers last week, remembers Löw, remembers his national career in shambles. Knows that Manuel, his sweet Manu, is next on the hitlist, captain or not, and that tonight’s game will likely be the catalyst for Jogi pressing for a goalkeeper change quicker than planned. And it _hurts_. It hurts so fucking much.

But then he looks at the little boy in Manu’s arms, staring up at him with features he knows so well, both from staring in a mirror and admiring the face of the one he loves, tracing it with his fingers.

And suddenly, he wonders if football – their job – is really worth all the tears, all the anger, when they have something so much more valuable in their arms.

He presses a kiss on Manu’s head before getting up with a small groan as his back cracks, offering him a hand.

“C'mon. Let’s go to bed.”

Manu looks down at where Fabi has dozed off in his arms.

“Can he sleep with us tonight?”

Thomas takes his hand wordlessly but answers with a smile.

After all, it’s incredibly healing to know that they will always be able to find comfort in their family.

 


	11. 2029 (age 11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost a bit of a sequel to Chapter 4! Fabi gets to meet one of his two best friends ^^

Fabi can’t deny that he's feeling nervous the first time he sets foot into St. Pauli’s youth academy. From where he’s standing, he can see the stadium just a few hundred meters away, as well as the green pitch spread out in front of him, currently still empty apart from the groundskeeper. He’s alone now that Papa has dropped him off at the door of the academy. They both agreed that it probably wouldn’t be the best if Fabi showed up to his first training session while clutching onto his father’s hand.

He pushes open the big doors. At first, he almost gets lost in the corridors and with no one there to ask, but after studying one of the maps he finds hung up at a corner, he notes that he needs to take two turns to the left to find the U-12 dressing room.

He's already met Herr Siegert, their coach – “you can call me Markus” – but he is a bit anxious about what his teammates are going to think of him. Some of these boys have been here for years and –

Fabi shakes his head. No, overthinking won't help him now. He remembers his Dad’s words, his smile when he told him that he would find friends at the team in no time this morning before he left for work. 

If Dad says so, it must be true, right? 

Fabi sighs before gripping onto the strap on his bag with newfound determination. Just as he's about to turn around and head in the right direction, he hears someone running up to him from behind.

It’s a boy, probably about his age, with skin as dark as chocolate and a head of dark brown, frizzy curls on his head. He’s out of breath, clutching his training bag close. He doesn’t say anything and just stares at him with wide eyes, so Fabi decides to.

“Are you here for the U-12 training too?”

The boy nods. Fabi tilts his head. Sure a quiet one, this is.

“I found out where to go, c’mon.” And then, without exchanging anything else, they walk to the dressing room side by side.

It’s the other boy who raises his fist to knock on the door once they reach their destination, and Fabi bites his lip.

Herr Siegert is a big man, burly, but with a wide, friendly face. He’s smiling as he ushers the two of them inside, having them stand in front of the rest of the boys, who are eyeing the two newcomers with curious reserve.

“Team,” the coach addresses his players, “this is Samuel Schröder, and Fabian Müller. They’re gonna play with us from now on."

Some of the boys lower their heads, quietly muttering among themselves. They stop immediately when the coach shows Fabi and the other boy – Samuel – to their lockers. 

“26 and 24. Right next to each other because we don’t have a 25. I’m sure you'll get along splendidly.” He pats them both of the shoulder before turning around, settling on one of the benches to wait until everyone is dressed and ready to walk out on the pitch.

It’s the first time Fabi sees the other boy smile. It’s a wide smile, beaming, curious in nature. It makes him suddenly a lot more approachable. Still, Fabi is almost surprised when Samuel offers him his hand.

“Hi, I’m Sam. Thanks for helping me not to get lost.”

Fabi takes it with a grin. “Fabian. Everyone calls me Fabi, though.”

And even with the rest of the team still eyeing them somewhat suspiciously, Fabi realizes that he’s just made his first friend on the team.

Luckily, training goes quite smoothly, and Fabi beams proudly when he manages to show off quite a few moves, proving himself as a valuable addition to the team. Sam is really talented too, and already, he feels a weird sense of pride that them, the newbies, didn’t let themselves be intimidated and instead proved that they deserved to be here.

And when training is done and Fabi has even been able to nutmeg two of their teammates towards the end, exchanging sneaky glances with a grinning Sam each time, he is happy as he slips out of his boots, stuffing them inside of his new locker.

Sam waits for him at the door, and they leave together to finally part with a quick hug, a pat on the back and crooked smiles, and when Fabi climbs inside of his Papa’s car again and Papa leans forward and asks how it went, curious and a bit nervous, too, Fabi just grins.

“Great!”

Yes, he’s looking forward to Friday and the next training session, already.

 


	12. 2029 (age 11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for [Arvi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvi) who sorta came up with this idea ^^

They’re at training camp when Sam finds out about Fabi’s parents.

It’s almost on accident in the end. The two boys are laying in their room – it’s a cramped space, but the big window as well as the clothes thrown all over the floor make it seem lived-in.

It’s slowly getting dark outside and they really should be starting to think about sleeping, but Sam is playing some game on his phone and Fabi is lazily scrolling through instagram. He startles a bit when his phone emits a quiet ‘pling’, almost dropping it on his face. Sam, on his own small twin bed, looks up questioningly.

Fabi taps on the whatsapp message, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Just my parents.” He tilts his head, stretching his neck. “They took me being away as a chance for a romantic holiday, so the’re in Miami right now.” He casts a look on the rain-streaked sky outside of their window, takes in the humid air. “I’m sorta jealous.”

_ Hope you’re enjoying your time on Rügen, _ Papa writes,  _ Florida is lovely, but we miss you. _

Fabi scrolls through the images of beaches and markets and palm trees and the sky and doesn't even notice when Sam gets up, hovering over his shoulder, only turning around when his friend whistles.

“Dang! Yeah, me too. But instead we’re stuck here.” 

Here being somewhere in a small hotel not close enough to the Baltic Sea, where it has been raining for the past two days.

Fabi nods, just quickly wanting to skim through the last few images when he stops. Both because the image he’s looking at is not the blue and pink sunset he expected but also because of how it makes Sam gasp.

“Dude!”

He doesn’t say anything else, just quietly gapes as Fabi winces.

The photo shows his parents. Side by side, with Papa’s arm draped over Dad’s shoulder in a clearly intimate fashion as they both smile widely into the camera and Dad shows them a thumbs-up that’s halfway cut out off the image due to the awful framing – even after years and years of practice, neither of them have learned how to take a proper selfie.

It’s endearing, but Fabi’s heart starts beating faster. He knows that that is not what caught Sam’s eye.

Of course, Fabi has long since told his best friend at Pauli that he has same-sex parents. He held his breath for a moment after he’d told him only a few weeks after they became friends, not daring to look at him. But Sam only shrugged, smiled and said that it didn’t make a difference to him. After all, their club carries a rainbow flag on their jerseys, another adorns their stadium and the the stands are painted in its colours.

He might have left out the detail that his parents were former football superstars though. Which is why, Fabi assumes, that Sam is clutching his shoulder so tightly right now.

“Holy shit,” Sam says again, his eyes almost comically wide.

“Yeah, um.” Fabi scratches his head. “Surprise??”

“Wait,” Sam pulls away, “This is a prank, right? You’re pranking me. I mean?! Manuel Fucking Neuer?!?”

Fabi frowns. “Manu Müller. They got married when we moved to Hamburg in 2023 – I told you that!”

Sam’s laugh is almost hysterical.

“You told me your parents got married in 2023, yeah. You didn’t tell me THEY WON AN EFFING WORLD CUP!! What the fuck, bro.”

He looks genuinely distraught. Upset? Fabi winces again. He really doesn’t hope so. 

“Sorry. It's not something I just go bragging around with, for obvious reasons. They risked a lot for me, and I don’t wanna be the reason they get attacked the media or something.”

Sam quickly shakes his head. “No one will hear anything from me, I promise. But fuck, Thomas Müller and Manuel N- Müller. This is insane. No wonder you’re so crazy talented.”

He returns to his bed, clearly still in a state disbelief. Fabi observes him carefully as he settles back on his sheets, picking up his phone. He doesn’t seem upset, at least. Okay, maybe it would be irrational to be – but they have been best friends for the better part of four months. The fact that he hid it until now … he can be glad that Sam understands. He could have been angry, disappointed, instead.

He startles when a sudden noise cuts through the room, damp and tinny, muted by the shitty quality of Sam’s phone’s loudspeakers.

A commentator celebrating a goal - it sounds awfully familiar.

Fabi gets up, rushing over to where Sam is sitting, standing next to him – on the screen, his dad scores one of his most famous goals in nothing close to HQ quality.

A smile splits Fabi’s face as the camera quickly cuts to his papa before the video moves on to the next clip, one of those crazy lucky and impossible goals his dad was so famous for.

Sam is shaking his head.   
  
“He was insane. Even if you only inherited a spoonful of his talent ... and then there's the award-winning, world-class goalie, too.”

He rubs his hand over his face, chuckling before turning to Fabi with a crooked grin.

“So who is ‘Papa’ and who is ‘Dad’? And who, do tell, is the one who carried you to full term  _ during his active career? _ Cause not gonna lie, that’s some impressive shit.”

And as Fabi's eyes pan to the few orange pixels that represent his papa in a neon-coloured kit, jumping and rolling and performing one impressive save after another, he grins.

“Yeah, it’s a long story.”

Sam shrugs, patting the bed next to him, his curls bobbing.

“We’ve got time.”

 


	13. 2019 (age 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manu is away for International Break. Thomas and Fabi watch him on TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little something I wrote last week! ... to compensate for the fact that the big fic is still at my beta's and will probably take another week or so to get posted ^^

It’s the second time Thomas has to see Manu off as he travels to the National Team on his own. The sting is a bit less by now, just a tiny bit, but his missing presence is still a hole inside of Thomas’ heart, now even more so than usually.

Fabian helps, of course. He’s been trying to walk more lately, on wobbly, short legs. He doesn’t manage more than a few meters just yet, and Thomas’ heart stops every time he lurches, threatening to fall over, but hell, if he didn't admit the sheer, all-encompassing pride it has made him feel, he would be lying.

It's weird, seeing him trying to toddle around without Manu there. They have been exchanging sparkling, conspiratory glances every time Fabi gets up, frowning when he falls down on his butt again because he can’t manage to cross over the entire living room, as if it was the floor that did something to offend him and not his own, growing abilities.

Right now, Thomas is standing in the kitchen, smiling down at his phone with a taste of nostalgia on his tongue, scrolling through instagram and getting stuck staring at the image of Manu arriving at the team hotel the week before, and then the ones from a rafting trip that looked extremely fun and that he regrets not being a part of.

It’s weird, observing it all from the outside, as if he was a stranger to all of it. Weird, how it already feels like he  _ is _ .

He then smiles when something bumps into his calf, looking down.

He left Fabi in the living room with some of his toys and slipped away to get a glass of water just a short while before, but apparently, in the five minutes he’s been gone, their toddler already missed him.

“Dada,” Fabi says and hugs his leg, and Thomas can feel his lips spread into a smile. It’s been a month or two since he first addressed him by it but it still manages to take his breath away.

“Hey, Krümel. You okay?”

Fabi’s nod is insecure, and Thomas at this point is in that stage where he’s not sure if his son actually understands him yet or not. Sure, he must recognize the tone, playful but laced with a hint of concern, but the actual words,  _ what _ he’s saying?

Thomas leans down, picks him up and settles him on his hip, the glass in the other hand as he walks them back to the living room.

The TV hasn’t been turned on yet, and Thomas is almost a bit reluctant to do so. So far, Fabi only knows it only as that big rectangle that occasionally shows him pretty moving pictures, he is sure of that. But today, it’s gonna show his papa.

They don’t usually let him watch the games, not yet. Occasionally, Lisa, Thomas’ parents or Hannah, their nanny, takes him to the stadium for afternoon games, bundled up in enough blankets to pass for a veritable little burrito. But they haven’t really let him watch them in the evenings, both because it is usually too late for him to be up, and because well–

Well, Thomas guesses they will just have to wait and see.

With a sigh, he grabs the remote, settling on the couch, placing Fabi between his legs, wrapping an arm around his tummy to keep him in place when he starts wiggling immediately.

He’s determined to put him to bed during halftime break, but for now, they’re in this together.

At first, Fabi doesn’t seem that interested. They show the stadium, the fans, the big signs on the pitch – the coaches, people Fabi has never seen before. Thomas can feel him twitching where they show a quick clip of Joshua, the flash of familiarity being enough to capture his interest as they other players line up, some he’s seen before, and Thomas can see the his eyes flicking back and forth that he’s confused–

And then, Fabi just stops.

He reaches out his hand as the next figure steps into the frame, shuffling through the bodies stuffed into the narrow tunnel, wiggling towards the front. A figure clad in red instead of turquoise, an armband wrapped around his biceps.

Fabi leans forward until he’s almost able to touch the screen, and Thomas has to hold him back by his waist so that he doesn’t fall, chuckling at the incredulous expression on his son’s face when he turns his his head to look at him, his eyes wide, mouth gaping.

“Baba!”

Thomas chuckles wetly.  _ God _ .

“Yeah, there’s your Papa. Can you see him?”

Manu is looking absolutely gorgeous. His hair is newly cut, the sides so short it’s barely there. He looks so handsome with his stubble, his broad shoulders and the full authority of a captain ready to lead his team. But yet, there’s hints of softness in the way he awkwardly smiles at the rival captain, the way he fiddles with his armband – Thomas knows he always feels like it never sits right, that it constrains him more than anything else – and the curve of his cheeks.

The way he misses him hits his chest full-force now, igniting a longing that Thomas knows will torture him long into the night.

Fabi is still entranced by what’s unfolding on the screen, his eyes following his Papa as he leads their boys –  _ his _ boys – onto the pitch, as he stands tall and proud as they play the national anthem, as he exchanges a handshake and a pennant with the other captain before jogging back to his goal, jumping to touch the crossbar as the camera follows him.

At first, the game is pretty unexciting, actually, so Thomas is mostly busy with keeping Fabi still who is trying to reach the TV screen every time they show his Papa, as if to check if he is real, as if he wanted to feel his stubble underneath his hands and his skin warm and real against Fabi’s.

Leroy scores, and Thomas snickers when Manu pretends to be a defender again, pulling a little stunt at the corner flag that makes his opponent look like an amateur – ‘that’s my baby’, he murmurs, grinning.

The score is still 0-1 when the ads start to roll, and Thomas carefully hoists Fabi up as he doesn’t want to turn away from the screen, even though all there is to see by now is a red car driving through a desert in full cinematographic beauty.

Thomas ruffles his curls as Fabi buries his hands in his shirt, balling the fabric in between his tiny fingers.

“Baba home?”

Thomas sighs.

“No Krümelchen, not for another few days.”

This time, he’s  _ sure _ Fabi can pick up on the sadness in his voice, because he leans into him and hugs his shoulder in the most endearing way. Fabi frowns at him in the most adorable way, and Thomas chuckles mournfully.

“Yeah, I miss him too.”

Neither of them say anything as Thomas carries him up to his bed, tucking him in and pulling the blanket right up to his nose, bopping it and making Fabi giggle as his son wraps his stubby arms around his horse plushie.

Thomas hums a slow tune as he gets up to turn off the light before returning to Fabi’s bedside once more, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Sleep, Fabi. Your Papa will be home soon,” he whispers. And then, when he’s already standing in the door–

“Love you, Krümel.”

“You ‘oo, Dada.”

When Manu comes home on Thursday and slips under the covers with Thomas late that night, after finally managing to get an excited and hyperactive Fabi to sleep after a third bedside story, he snuggles into Thomas’ chest, as Thomas tangles his fingers in his hair and holds him close.

“He missed you.”

“Yeah?” Manu mumbles, already close to being overtaken by sleep. “But we, I, have been away before.”

“He’s been asking about you ever since we saw you play against Belarus.” Thomas presses his lips against his fiancé’s temple, his words low and damp against it.

Manu blinks. “You did?”

Thomas shrugs as well as he’s able to with 92kg of goalkeeper partially resting on him.

“Couldn’t resist. He was all wide-eyed and cute though, he kept trying to touch you.”

“Oh.”

It’s crazy, how much Manu looks like Fabi did back on Saturday, Thomas ponders, but then again there’s something to their eyes, their seeming innocence that gets balanced by their shared hotheadedness –

They’re so clearly father and son.

Thomas leans down to kiss him, and the feel of Manu in his arms, under his hands, against his lips, is everything. His cheeks are just slightly flushed when they pull away, and Thomas pushes his hair out of his forehead, the fringe that he only has at night, after showering, that makes him look incredibly boyish and not at all like the man in his mid 30s that he is.

“We  _ both _ missed you.”

And when Manu sighs contently against his heart, Thomas figures that if they get to be together in the end, seeing Manu leave for International Break doesn’t hurt all that much, anymore.

Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t love to go back to the National Team, though.

 


	14. 2023 (age 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit different! I posted it on tumblr a while ago, and by now my friend [Martha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliansweigl/pseuds/juliansweigl/works) have decided to let our little kids verses exist in one universe, so it feels very appropriate to post this here, too! – this version has been slightly edited and added to from the tumblr version, so I hope it's worth a read!
> 
> Full credit for Basti and Felix goes to her of course, pls give them some love [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17007102/chapters/42587543), [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901321) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993407)!

It’s summer and there’s a third child sitting at their breakfast table.

Despite his angelic features, Fabian has got his dad’s slightly unsettling mismatched eyes, and there's a certain cheekiness to his sweetness that makes him seem like he perfectly belongs there. Mats on the other hand can only gape at the scene laid out in front of him.

Benni had to leave for some sponsor meeting earlier, and Mats overslept, so he really expected his sons to have overthrown the entire kitchen in the meantime, but instead, Basti is slowly chewing on his cereal, occasionally exchanging a grin with Fabi as Felix is doodling on a sheet of paper, paying no attention to how some honey is dripping from his toast right onto the table. 

All in all, it's eerily quiet.

“What are you doing here?!” Mats manages to splutter after a few seconds of stupefied bewilderment, nodding his head in disbelief as Fabi makes a ‘who, me?’ motion.

The older blond boy only shrugs. “My parents are arguing a lot lately. I wanted to give them some ‘alone time'’.”

He stresses ‘alone time’ with making little quote signs with his fingers, grinning smugly. Mats _prays_ that at five years old he doesn’t know what that actually means. How he has managed to get halfway through the city on his own, Mats has no idea.

“Can he stay with us, Papa?” Basti pleas, and Mats just blinks.

“Um”, he says, but before he can add anything else, his phone rings.

“So,” Thomas says, while Mats hears something crash in the background, “Manu forced me to call you because well – our son is missing and he’s freaking out.” Now, Mats can distinguish his now former captain yelling in the background.

“Yeah, because I don’t understand how you’re being so relaxed about this!! Fabi is MISSING, he’s NOT IN THE HOUSE and Hannah” – Fabi’s nanny – “has no idea where he is either. So YES I AM FREAKING OUT!!”

The last sentence is indefinitely louder than the rest, and only after a bit more yelling does Mats realize Manu must have yanked the phone from Thomas’ hand.

“Huh,” Fabi says, chewing his toast, “I thought he would calm down. Weird.”

Mats blinks again, then clears his throat. Manu’s stream of words ebbs away, and suddenly, he’s dangerously quiet.

“Yeah, about that – he’s here. Fabi is here,” he elaborates after a dead silence from the other side of the call.

“Hummels I swear to god if you kidnapped my son–”

“No! _Jesus_ , no. He just turned up here, I swear! I just woke up!!”

Manu sighs deeply and Mats can perfectly picture him rubbing his forehead as he’s scowling.

“Mats, where is Benni?”

Mats squirms. “In Düsseldorf. At that DFB ambassador thing, you know?”

He only receives a groan in reply. Then–

“Can you hand the phone to Fabi?”

Mats does so wordlessly, sitting down with his sons as Fabi slips down from the chair and toddles into the living room.

Basti frowns. 

“I thought he could be here for a while. We haven’t seen him forever.”

Forever being four weeks ago, when they’d all retired and the Müllers started making plans to move to Hamburg. Felix doesn’t say anything, but Mats notices that he’s frowning, too.

Mats ruffles Basti’s hair. “I know. We’ll go visit them soon, I promise. Now,” he takes a bite of the toast, “what did I say about handling the toaster? You should always ask me first, you could hurt yourself.”

He's not even surprised when the twins put all the blame on Fabi.

By the time Fabi’s parents arrive, all four boys in the house have been adequately nourished – Mats even managed to get them to eat their morning apples by grating them and covering them in a generous amount of yogurt – and the mood is generally pretty good.

Fabi and the twins are building Lego in the living room, and Mats is just in the process of finally getting dressed when the doorbell rings.

“Your hair looks like a family of sparrows made a nest in it,” Thomas greets and grins so unashamedly that Mats is tempted to slap him. Except that Manu is standing right next to him, frowning, and a Manuel Neuer (Müller, now, Mats reminds himself, even though their church ceremony hasn’t happened yet) in a foul mood is really not something anyone should try to provoke anymore.

Mats hasn’t noticed that someone sneaked up next to his legs – Basti is beaming widely as he bunches his little fist in the material of his Papa’s jeans.

“Hiya Uncle Manu,” he chirps, and Thomas offers him a grin and a wave, and that makes even Manu's lips twist into a smile. “Uncle Thomas! Did you know–”

He grabs onto Thomas hand, dragging him along, and off they are. Manu, luckily, is still smiling.

“They’re growing fast.”

Mats shrugs. 

“Yeah, they’re really in that phase now where every step feels bigger than the last, they’re discovering new stuff every day. I’m pretty sure Felix has painted every wall in his room by now and there’s hardly a day where Basti doesn’t try to make friends with some critter he found in the garden. How is Fabi doing? Is he excited about Hamburg?”

Manu winces. “Yeah, about that. We haven’t told him yet.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “We can’t agree on how to. Thomas wants to do it now, but I’m just not sure. It will be a shock for him and well … We’ve been arguing about it.”

“Maybe slowly ease him into it? Make it an adventure? I’m sure Thomas would change his mind if you explained your motivations.”

Manu rubs his chin. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Hey,” the man in question says, by now carrying Felix in his arms who is picking at the colourful buttons of his jacket, “I’m pretty sure Basti just invited us to lunch in your name, if I understood his excited rambling correctly.” Then, “are you okay, sweetheart?”

Manu nods distractedly, though unable to suppress a smile when his husband steps up to him, lightly pecking his lips.

“Can I see Fabi now?” he asks, the edge in his voice almost desperate.

Thomas simply takes his hand.

Fabi, of course, gets an insistent talking to from his still worried Papa. But then they hug it out and Thomas smiles and wraps his arms around both of them as the twins and Mats hover in the doorframe and watch. Mats’ conflicted feelings regarding Manu aside – he has to admit they make for a hella cute family.

 

Later, lunch is a loud affair.

Basti is sitting on Mats’ lap as Mats cuts his son’s fish fingers into pieces while Basti himself tries to talk to Fabi, who is helping Felix to decorate his paper napkin with a neon green gel pen. Manu and Thomas are holding hands on the table and are getting lost in each other's eyes and Mats is starting to realize that Fabi maybe had the right idea all along.

He puts the fork and knife down, rubbing his chin.

“You know ... I’ve got no plans for the next two days, Benni is away and the boys seem to have fun. So if Fabi wants to stay for a night or two …” He wiggles his eyebrows. Thomas looks initially puzzled but Manu’s smile is almost relieved.

“That would be lovely, actually. Boys, would you like that?”  
  
Three little heads nod enthusiastically in response. Thomas, finally catching on, slowly starts to smirk.

By the time they’re ready to leave, he’s got his arm wrapped tightly around Manu’s waist as Manu is flush against his side as well as he possibly can, holding onto Thomas’ shoulder with a tight grip. The boys are inside.

Mats smirks.

“Have fun, you two. Enjoy your alone time. Not _too_ much though, you really don’t need another one of those little devils.”

Manu has the decency to blush crimson, at least – Thomas just cackles.

Then, Mats smiles softens. “Hamburg will work out for you. I’m sure.”

And by the way his friends turn to look at each other, this time without any tension or suspense in their eyes, he’s pretty positive he’s said the right thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, learn more about Fabi [here](https://manuelmueller.tumblr.com/tagged/fabiverse) on my blog! Also, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19283245/chapters/45861469) is his 'origin story'
> 
> I write FICTION about real people. None of this is intended to harm them or their reputation in any way | Please leave kudos and maybe a comment if you liked it! | [tumblr](http://manuelmueller.tumblr.com/)


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